


The Dream

by bigblueboxat221b



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23724667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigblueboxat221b/pseuds/bigblueboxat221b
Summary: Greg has the same bad dream over and over, but he can't bring himself to tell Mycroft what it's really about.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 31
Kudos: 206





	The Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Saratonin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saratonin/gifts).



> Happy birthday to my dear Saratonin <3

“Mycroft!”

All he knew was the harsh breath in his throat and his heart pounding as though breaking through his ribcage. His eyes were open but nothing made sense – the half-darkness swirling into a sudden burst of light that blinded him. Sensations slowly came to him, the world still blurry around the edges. Greg was holding onto something, something soft that twisted as his fingers tightened in it. Something was wrapped around his shoulders and his back, holding him still. His head was going to burst, his brain pulsing outwards in time with his heart, a thousand painful beats a minute.

_Gotta slow it down._

It took all his self-control to do it, holding the next breath in with all his energy, letting it out as slowly as he could. He did it again, and again, until everything had come back to him. The softness curled in his fingers made sense – the bamboo of Mycroft’s sleeping shirt. They were Mycroft’s arms wrapped around him, so familiar now that he was properly awake. He could feel the tears running down his face and wished he could wipe them away before Mycroft saw, but the wet patch against his cheek told him the evidence was already soaking into the fabric.

“Gregory,” Mycroft’s voice came to him quietly, “you are safe.”

Mycroft always started with that.

Greg nodded, still controlling his breathing. This part was the worst, worse than the dream itself. This was the part where he had to lie to Mycroft.

“The same dream?” Mycroft asked.

“Yes,” Greg whispered, the lie burning like acid in his mouth. Well, technically it wasn’t a lie. It was the same dream; that part was true. But the dream Mycroft thought it was and the dream it actually was varied in one key detail. A detail that made all the difference. How could he tell Mycroft the truth? It would only hurt him and Greg simply couldn’t do that. So instead he pretended to love their life together and pushed away the knowledge that one thing would complete what they had built.

The next half an hour passed as it always did – Mycroft holding him, stroking his back as he came back to reality; his body sweaty and uncomfortable but finally relaxing until he could drift off to sleep. Tempting though it was to get up and shower, change his clothes and return to bed, it was always far harder to get to sleep afterward. Greg resigned himself instead to waking up in the morning and showering immediately. Offsetting sleep for comfort wasn’t really much of a choice, but it worked.

+++

The next morning Greg winced as he pulled off his clothes. His skin was still tight and uncomfortable from the dried sweat of the night before, and the distinctive smell of fear wafted around him as he waited for the water in the shower to run hot. He hated this part, too; sneaking out of bed, hoping to get a shower in before Mycroft woke so he could pretend it hadn’t happened. Greg was reasonably sure Mycroft woke when he rolled out of bed, but he never mentioned it, and it was one of the times Greg was very happy to have the meaning behind his actions deduced.

He only hoped Mycroft couldn’t figure out the truth. Greg could hardly face it in himself; he was ashamed of the dissatisfaction that burned inside him. As the hot water rolled over his shoulders, Greg’s mind returned to his dream. The memory always left a sour taste in Greg’s mouth along with the cascade of tears that inevitably awaited him when he woke.

He should be happy to dream about his wedding day. To see his mum and his sister, both younger and sprightlier than they were now; his sister looked so happy and his mum was always beaming. Mycroft was always waiting for him at the end of the aisle. His suit and Greg’s were subtly different, highlighting the best features of their differently shaped bodies, the cream rose boutonnieres matching precisely. His smile was wide and Greg could feel it when their hands came together. The closer he got to Mycroft the more the rest of the world faded out until it was just the two of them, standing together, holding hands, Greg’s heart beating a thousand joyful beats a minute.

And then it fell apart. Slowly, Mycroft’s smile would fade, and he frowned. The first time Greg thought it was a piece of fluff blowing off his shoulder, then a couple of leaves; when it really got going, pieces of Mycroft were blowing away off into the foggy distance.

Bloody Avengers, putting that nightmare into his head. Never should have watched that one so late at night.

But the thing that really got Greg, the thing that made him wake sobbing and calling for Mycroft was the expression on his face. He would have thought he’d see regret or sadness, something that indicated he was sad to be going. Instead there was always relief. The look Greg associated with him reassuring Mycroft he wasn’t required at the pub, or to watch the football, or that it would be fine if Mycroft left at a moment’s notice for somewhere he couldn’t disclose.

He was relieved not to be getting married to Greg.

And it broke Greg’s heart every time.

He never thought he would want to be married again. Not after everything Nerine put him through. Not after the shell of a man she left behind, carving out every bit of self-esteem he possessed and smashing it until he could barely look himself in the mirror. But Mycroft had been patient and honest and one day Greg realised there was nothing more he wanted in the world than to share matching rings with him. To tell the world, ‘this is the man I owe my life to. I chose him, and bloody hell, he chose me too.’

Well, maybe not in so many words.

But Mycroft had never mentioned marriage, or commitment of any kind beyond the two of them sharing a home. Greg had been the first to bring it up, and it was more than a year before Mycroft agreed they should find somewhere together. He knew Mycroft was intensely private, to the point he was almost invisible. Proof of a marriage in his name would make a wealth of information available to the public, and for a man who didn’t even want their home to bear his name, Greg couldn’t fathom him wanting to be married.

So he’d lied. Told Mycroft it was upsetting because he blew away. Left out every detail except the wedding and the look on his face.

“Gregory?”

Greg blinked. He was still in the shower, hot water still cascading around his shoulders. Mycroft was standing in the bathroom, peering apprehensively through the steam.

“Yeah,” he said, fumbling for the taps.

The water shut off and he stepped out, reaching for his robe without meeting Mycroft’s eyes. It was warm around his shoulders and he concentrated on tying the cord perfectly. It wasn’t necessary but he could feel something was different. Mycroft never came into the bathroom on the morning after a nightmare; he always gave Greg space to shower and come back to bed in his own time.

“Are you aware of how long you have been in the shower?” Mycroft asked.

Greg shook his head. The shame from his dream – from his lie, from the desire to change their life – was filling him and he couldn’t meet Mycroft’s eyes.

“Over an hour,” Mycroft said. “I was concern about you.”

Greg nodded. “I’m fine.”

“I disagree,” Mycroft said quietly. “The frequency with which you have experienced these nightmares has increased over the past year.” He paused, easing closer to Greg. “Would you consider professional help?”

Greg couldn’t think for a minute. “Professional help?”

“Your concern that our relationship will not endure is distressing you,” Mycroft said. “And that in turn is distressing me.”

Greg swallowed. “Dirty pool, Mycroft,” he murmured. Protecting Mycroft was a higher priority than protecting himself, and Mycroft knew it.

_I’m going to have to tell him._

Cold fingers of realisation spiralled through Greg. He swallowed hard then raised his eyes to meet Mycroft’s. They were calm but steely, as though Mycroft was reminding him he’d promised to take out the rubbish before bed. Eyes not to be argued with.

“As you would use all the tools at your disposal to protect me,” Mycroft said, “I would for you.”

Greg nodded. If that wasn’t the perfect segue to what he needed to say, he didn’t know what was. “Let’s sit down,” he managed.

Mycroft nodded and they walked into the bedroom, sitting on the bed together.

“Protecting you,” he said, “is my highest priority.”

“I know,” Mycroft replied.

Greg nodded, looking down at his hands. There was no turning back now. Taking a deep breath, he started talking. This would be easier if he couldn’t see disappointed grey eyes.

“My dream is at our wedding,” he said. “We’re both there, and we’re both happy, but when you start to blow away you’re relieved.” He drew a deep shaky breath. “Relieved we’re not getting married. I can see it in your whole face, every detail. And that’s what breaks my heart.”

Greg stopped, breathing harder than he thought he would. Mycroft knew. Knew he’d been lying. Knew he wasn’t happy with their life. Knew…

“You want to get married?”

Mycroft’s words were whispered, but Greg heard them loud in the silence. He looked up, and the expression on Mycroft’s face was complex and unfamiliar.

Incredulous.

Speechless.

Hopeful.

And some emotion that was filling his eyes with tears as he looked at Greg.

“What?” Greg asked.

“You… _want_ to get married?” Mycroft repeated himself. That in itself was remarkable but the longing in his voice was unmistakable.

“I do,” Greg said. “Did you…do you think I don’t want to get married?”

“No,” Mycroft replied. “Your last marriage was…difficult. It was unlikely you would ever want to repeat the experience.”

“Repeat the experience?” Greg echoed. “Jesus, no, Mycroft. Getting married to you wouldn’t be repeating that experience.” He reached up, one shaking hand cupping Mycroft’s jaw. “It would be something different. Something new between us. Something I want with all my being.”

Mycroft’s eyes were wide. Greg had never seen him so uncertain, so clearly looking for confirmation.

“You would want to marry _me_?” Mycroft whispered again.

“Yes,” Greg said. He frowned. “Are you saying _you_ would want to get married?”

Mycroft looked at him. “Of course,” he whispered. His hand shook as he reached out for Greg’s. “Why would I not want to marry you?”

“You’ve never mentioned it,” Greg said. “Not once. And,” it sounded silly, now that they were talking out loud, “you don’t even want your name on the title of this place. A marriage record would be there for everybody to see.”

Mycroft blinked. “It is a matter of security, the title of our property. And a marriage record would be…optional, should it be unwise to share details of our lives.”

Greg couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You mean…” he trailed off. “You mean you’d consider…”

“Yes,” Mycroft said, his fingers tightening on Greg’s. “Yes, I would marry you today if you asked.”

“Funny,” Greg said, pushing the words past the lump in his throat. “I thought I had.”

“Not in so many words,” Mycroft replied.

“Marry me,” Greg whispered, wrapping his fingers around the back of Mycroft’s neck and pressing their foreheads together. “Please.”

“Yes,” Mycroft breathed before their lips met in a kiss, bruising and wet with tears.

+++

His Mum and his sister were there, both looking younger and sprightlier than they were now; his sister looked so happy and his mum was always beaming. Mycroft was always waiting for him at the end of the aisle. His suit and Greg’s were subtly different, highlighting the best features of their differently shaped bodies, the cream rose boutonnieres matching precisely. His smile was wide and Greg could feel it when their hands came together. The closer he got to Mycroft the more the rest of the world faded out until it was just the two of them, standing together, holding hands, Greg’s heart beating a thousand joyful beats a minute.

“Mycroft!”

Greg still woke in tears and Mycroft still held him but now the memories were real, the tears as happy as on their day, April 19th. And now in his dream, the ending was as it had been; two heart beating together, a thousand joyful beats a minute.


End file.
